


Situation Comedy

by JerseyGirl



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Explicit, Silly, Sitcom, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:16:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3516752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JerseyGirl/pseuds/JerseyGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People keep trying to throw Steve and Danny together in somewhat obvious ways. What can they do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Situation Comedy

**Author's Note:**

> Silliness, weirdness, lightheartedness. Sort of fourth wall shattering.

Steve looked up and around, eyeing the ceiling and walls as though at any moment he expected something odd to appear.

"Steven?"

"What?"

Danny mirrored his partner’s actions, eyes moving all over the room, but couldn't figure out precisely what Steve was looking for.

"What are you doing?"

Steve's face puckered as he took in his partner reclining on the room's only bed. Its double bed. "Nothing."

Danny shook his head and shrugged, scooting down until his head was on the very thin pillow. He frowned, looked to his left and grabbed the bed's only other pillow. It was equally thin, but as he stuffed it beneath his head, he found that the two together made for a halfway decent way to spend the night, anyway.

Looking around the room again, Steve slowly toed his shoes off and unbuttoned his shirt.

"What are you looking for?"

He pulled a face. "You ever get the idea you've walked into a sitcom and as soon as you do some hare-brained thing in the script the audience is going to appear and laugh you right off the set?"

Danny looked directly at him, his face deadly serious. "Can't say I have."

Sighing, Steve pulled his polo shirt off and hung it up on the lone wire hanger in the room's tiny closet. "Why do I think I'm going to regret this somehow?" he mumbled, flicking off the yellowish flickering light bulb over the two-foot-wide sink.

He made his way to the bed. It was easy enough to see because while it was nearing 1 a.m., the curtains were so threadbare that the lone light in the parking lot, which of course was almost directly outside their room, shone in as though it were day. He looked at the bed, suddenly realizing there were no pillows on the side which Danny intended to be his.

Clearing his throat, Steve stood in the one-foot space between the wall and the bed and folded his arms over his chest. Danny had thrown his arm over his eyes, and it was only when Steve very loudly and deliberately cleared his throat again that he peeked out from under that arm.

"What?" Danny asked.

"Pillow," Steve said, pointing down to the barren spot next to the wicker headboard that had bits and pieces broken and sticking out all over the place.

"There was only one."

"You've got two."

"You're imagining things."

Steve glared at him. Well, he was a SEAL, dammit. He could sleep without a pillow; he'd done it plenty back in his active duty days and would not be outdone by a Jersey cop. Calling down to the front desk to see about getting more pillows crossed his mind, but if that man who'd checked them in was going to be the one putting his filthy hands on said pillows to deliver them, Steve figured he'd be better off without than with.

"Sleep tight," Danny said as Steve seated himself on the edge of the bed, praying the place at least didn't have bedbugs. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

He whipped his head around to look at Danny, but he was rolled onto his side facing away from him and before Steve had even settled himself on his back, was snoring softly.

Steve lay staring up at the ceiling for a few moments, noting all the cracks and wondering if this place was even up to the local building code. "I am in a damn sitcom," he whispered, groaning as he turned to his right side facing Danny's back. "I just know I am."

The room was silent for a good two hours, during which time the logistics of two grown men sharing a double bed began to present themselves. Both men snored deeply, oblivious to the increasingly compromising nature of their respective positions.

Half an hour after Steve fell asleep, Danny rolled onto his back, his left arm stretching straight out so that his fingertips were a hair’s breadth from his partner’s hair.

An hour after that, Steve rolled onto his right side, head landing directly in the palm of Danny's upturned left hand.

Thirty minutes later, Danny rolled onto his left side, right arm throwing itself across Steve’s left hip.

The night remained fairly quiet for the next two hours, with only the snores of the two men punctuating each passing minute.

The head of Five-0 and his partner rolled toward each other at the exact same moment, as though it had been choreographed and they were simply giving in to the strings pulling them together. Now they were back-to-back, shoulder blades touching shoulder blades...the smalls of their backs arching away from their counterparts...their asses touching completely. Both pairs of legs were in half-triangle positions, but the soles of their sock-clad feet lined up perfectly. Up top, their heads bowed away from one another's, forming a V from the bony tips of their spines up their necks and through two very different-colored heads.

Forty-five minutes later, both men turned, leaving them facing one another. This time their foreheads touched, heated exhalations puffing over each man's face. Steve's hand reached out and found Danny's bicep, while Danny's hand found the bottom of his partner's ribcage.

Fingers began to roam. Snores ceased, but eyelids didn't open. Danny's fingers moved beneath Steve’s shirt. Steve's hand ran over his partner’s cheekbone and into his mussed blond hair. As if by mutual unspoken agreement, their lips moved the last few millimeters that had been separating them, and met in a soft, hesitant kiss.

Danny's eyes flew open.

Steve's eyes flew open.

Both jaws dropped, hands stilling like if they just froze somehow it'd mean none of this had happened.

It was Danny who finally broke the tense silence. “Who the hell wrote this script?” he whispered.

Steve's eyes widened, then suddenly he laughed out loud, hand moving from Danny's head. Joining his partner in the mirthful moment and mightily grateful for the spell being broken that quickly, he took his hand off Steve’s skin.

“Told you it was a bad goddamn sitcom,” Steve said, turning, sitting up and then rising to his feet in one swift movement. “Hitting the head.”

“Yeah, I think I can hear the audience laughing at us,” Danny confirmed, but he didn't move from the position his partner had left him in. Instead, he reached out to touch the spot Steve had just vacated, closed his eyes and sighed softly. “I think we need a new writer,” he said, mouth quirking into a half-smile.

The toilet flushed and Steve appeared in the doorway. “Say what?”

“I just said,” Danny replied, rising to his feet, “that I think we need a new writer.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair and quirked an eyebrow at him. “One that's not constantly trying to throw us into situations where we'll be forced into...” He hesitated, hand waving vaguely around between the bed and the two of them. “...this?”

“Yeah,” Danny said, moving toward the bathroom. His upper left arm brushed his partner’s, and for a moment the two men stopped mid-stride and stared into each other's eyes.

“I don't think we should take solo trips to the mainland for cases anymore,” Steve said quietly, tearing his eyes from Danny’s.

Danny shook his head. “If we start bringing anyone else with us, we'll wind up with _menage a trois_ or _cuatre_ or God forbid, _cing_.”

Steve's brow knitted. “How do we stop these people from trying to throw us in the sack together?”

Danny shrugged as he finished his trek to the toilet. It was a quick yank out, a deep sigh as he relieved himself and a quick zip-up later that he realized his partner had been standing there watching the entire thing.

“I don't know,” he said uncomfortably. “But I say we stubbornly refuse to give in no matter what.” He turned on the tap and unwrapped a bar of soap. He and Steve wetted their hands, then Danny rubbed the bar between his palms before handing it off to Steve. “After all, eventually whoever they are will tire of waiting and move on to someone else.”

“Like Chin and Kono?” Steve asked, eying his partner in the filthy mirror before them.

Danny's eyes widened. “Jesus. I hope not. Is that even legal?”

“Well, Danny, we really have to think this through.”

“What do you mean?” Danny asked, drying his hands and tossing Steve the small not-quite-white hand towel.

“If they don't get us to do it, what if they do go after the cousins instead?”

“What are you saying? That we have to fuck each other to protect the rest of our team?”

Steve shook his head. “I don't know, but I'm getting a little tired of feeling like a marionette with no control over my own body.”

“You have control. We've had this type of thing happen eight times already and still we haven't crossed any lines.”

“Hrmph,” Steve grunted, throwing the towel down onto the marble sink, which he thought must have at some point been white.

Danny knew his line wasn't exactly true. They'd kissed just now, and strangely, Danny could still feel it on his lips. “So what do we do?”

“Given the fact that whoever this writer or group of writers is, isn't going to be stopping this shit any time soon from the look of it, I suggest we turn the tables on them.”

Intrigued, Danny stopped at the end of the bed and turned to face his partner. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well,” Steve said, uncomfortably running a hand through his hair again, “what if we voluntarily give them what they want without them forcing us into it?”

Danny's mouth open and closed, then opened again, jaw dropping as incredulity etched itself into his features. “You want to have sex with me?”

“Want to?” Steve shook his head vehemently. “No. But I also don't want them doing this shit to Chin and Kono. Or Grover, for that matter.”

“You think they will?”

“If they get bored because we don't cooperate, they might.”

“This just went from a sitcom to a goddamn drama.” Danny mirrored his partner’s hand-through-the-hair gesture. “I don't know if I could do this, and we don't know that it'll make any difference anyway.”

Steve let out a puff of air that mixed with a deep bark of a laugh and looked away. “You're right. Nobody's more straight than me…except maybe you…and I don't know that I could actually do it anymore than you can.”

“There are just so many things wrong with it,” Danny nodded.

“On a great many levels,” Steve agreed.

The men looked at one another, and seemed to be in silent agreement over their danced-around decision. They turned away from each other, walked around to their respective sides of the bed and sat down. Danny tossed one of the two really flat pillows he'd hogged to his partner’s side. Within seconds, the men were lying with their backs to each other, as close to the edge of the mattress as possible.

Suddenly there was a creaking noise, followed quickly by a loud SNAP! And just as both men's muscles tensed, the long board under the mattress broke, sharp edges digging into the dingy carpet beneath it. The mattress, crappy and with absolutely no life left in it, folded inward. Two men suddenly found themselves rolling toward the center of the mattress, bodies flipping until they landed nose-to-nose in the small crater.

“Evidently there was no box spring,” Danny observed.

“All right,” Steve sighed, closing his eyes momentarily, and feeling Danny's rapid breaths cover his face. “I've just about had it.” Danny nodded, which Steve could feel as their noses bumped during the process. Steve reopened his eyes to find Danny's staring right back at him. “I'm not giving in to this,” he whispered. “It's all just a goddamn sitcom. They have to go to commercial break sometime.”

“What if it's a reality show-type comedy instead of a sitcom?” Danny asked, his face serious. “Cameras run all the time on those.”

“Oh, great,” Steve groaned. But neither man made to move. “Let's just go to sleep.”

“Like this?” Danny asked, squirming as he tried to find comfortable places for his arms, hands, legs and feet in amongst those of his much taller partner.

“Yes. If we keep trying to separate, they'll throw an earthquake at us.”

Danny's hand rose and clamped itself over Steve's mouth. “Do not even put that out there.”

Steve backed away and sighed. “Good night, Danny,” he said when Danny had removed his hand. He closed his eyes and felt his forehead slide forward until it hit his partner’s.

Danny smiled. “'Night, Steve.”

When they woke in the morning, it was to find their arms and legs wrapped around each other tightly. Blue eyes smoldered into hazel, and it took a few moments for them to get their bearings.

“Separate suites tonight,” Steve said quietly, trying to keep his morning breath at bay. “Wherever the hell it is we wind up.”

“Definitely,” Danny replied, but didn't move.

Maybe the sitcom writers weren't done with them yet after all.

* * *

_One week later…_

“So how’d the whole ‘following Carrera up and down the West Coast’ go?”

Steve looked at Danny, who’d just entered the bullpen two steps behind him, then gave Kono a noncommittal shrug. “Oh, you know how it is. Seedy motel rooms where roaches won’t even stay, that sort of thing.”

Kono raised one smooth, perfectly-plucked eyebrow when her eyes moved from her boss to his partner. “You’re looking awfully happy for a man who usually complains about jet lag when he returns from the mainland.”

Danny clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. “It was fun.”

“Seedy motel rooms was fun? But you’re the neatest neat freak I know!”

Danny grinned at Steve.

Steve grinned back.

Kono cleared her throat.

Steve turned his thousand-watt smile to her. “It was kind of like a sitcom, actually,” he stated matter-of-factly, then pivoted and headed for his office.

“That it was,” Danny added, before following Steve.

Kono turned as her cousin entered the bullpen.

“What’s with the look?” Chin asked.

“Something’s going on.”

Chin turned toward the direction Kono was now looking. “How do you mean?” His eyes widened.

There, not at all hiding behind the glass walls and doors of Steve McGarrett’s office, were the man in question and his partner.

Kissing.

“How is that like a sitcom?” Kono asked.

Chin was perplexed.

Mystified.

A bit in shock.

“Well. That explains a lot,” he finally said.

“I need to be in a sitcom,” Kono lamented.

Chin arched his eyebrow at her. “Really…”

She grinned wickedly.


End file.
